


The Further North You Go

by glasgow_blue



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-28
Updated: 2004-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasgow_blue/pseuds/glasgow_blue





	

For [](http://traveller.livejournal.com/profile)[**traveller**](http://traveller.livejournal.com/): _mud, sun, splash, breeze, viggo_

words: 700  
drafts: 9062  
drafts that resemble the below: 2

ask me about Dom's ill-fated attempt at delivering a foal. or don't.

 

Viggo knows that all he has to do is pick up the phone and a nice young man named Joseph will bring him whatever he asks for. And if the hotel doesn’t stock it, they’ll send someone out and Joseph will arrive with apologies for the delay. It doesn’t matter what time he calls, Joseph is always there and always ready.

It took a lot of cajoling and a promise of a signed picture of Miranda for Joseph to agree to stop calling him Mr. Mortensen and, even then, he only acquiesced to Mr. Viggo. So that’s who they are now. Joseph and Mr. Viggo --the title of a film, maybe. Or an off-off Broadway play about a man who talks to his cat.

Tonight, Viggo asks for coffee, chocolate ice cream, and a map of New York State and Joseph delivers all three with a toothy smile. Viggo dumps some of the steaming liquid into the bowl and stirs idly, sinking to the floor Indian style to examine the map.

_Have you ever been to New York, Joseph?_

Joseph is busy closing the drapes, but answers no. He adds that he would like to see the Statue of Liberty, some day.

Viggo sticks the spoon into his mouth and shakes his head, talking around it.

 _Not the city. New York. The mountains. The farms._ Out comes the spoon and Viggo uses it as a pointer on the map. _Here._

Joseph looks and politely says that Mr. Viggo is pointing to Canada.

Viggo laughs. Close. Very close. The North Country.

_Old man Myers said that there’s something in the water, up there. Gets inside a man and stays. Makes him come back._

Joseph refills the coffee cup, smiles, and tells Mr. Viggo to have a good night. But he's already gone.

He’s in a blue truck, heading up the northbound lane of Route 11 from Watertown to Canton--a road he’s driven enough times to do in his sleep. He’s on his way to a place--a time--where the breeze smells like pine and silage and an appearance from the sun between October 1 and May 30 is cause for celebration.

St. Lawrence County, largest in the Empire state, begins in the middle of nowhere and if you blink, you miss the transition from Jefferson. The road rises a little, offering a view of windswept pastures and rocky outcroppings and there is a green sign that says "The Jewel in the Crown of New York". Six miles later, there is a blue and gold one that says "Jesus is Lord over Gouverneur". Somehow, this statement is not at odds with the giant roll of Peppomint Lifesavers that stands immortalized in the park in town. The county is home to four colleges, two decent hockey teams, women who make cairns and walls from the stones in their flower gardens, and a whole fuckload of cows.

In moments like this, he wishes he could clone himself. One Viggo to draw pictures of the barren landscape. One to write a poem about the splash of water on ancient granite at Allen’s Falls. Another to call Dom and tell him the story of the semester he hired onto the Myers farm and slung hay to cows while literally up to his ass in slurry-like mud. Another still to sit and savor the memory of chicken served with cheese whiz and called cordon bleu at a place called the Tic-Toc; where meals were served to him without ceremony, where the vegetables were still frozen in the middle more often than not, where you could order a burger, but you'd get what Arlene felt like bringing you.

He looks up, wanting to tell Joseph about shopping for birthday presents in the local feed store. About driving for hours with only Orion to guide him home. About how, in February, there are always two weeks where they daytime high tops out at five degrees Fahrenheit, without the wind.

But Joseph is gone and his ice cream bowl is empty. There are words and doodles all over the map and the clock reads 3:36.

The number on his door in Eaton Hall, back in '77.


End file.
